One Of These Mornings, You Will Look For Me
by Precarious
Summary: Set during the summer of OotP. From Sirius POV.  Secrets are messy things. SB/HG
1. Crawling

**Crawling**

**A.N.** Not sure what I'll do with this, going have a go at a first chapter, this is more a prologue or maybe one shot. Sirius/Hermione, fairly graphic with plenty of swearing. If this will offend you please don't read. Reviews would be super . Just a first draft, probably revamp once I've decided where it's going.

**Warning:** This contains underage Hermione, OotP – summer at Grimmauld Place is the setting.

I never should have let it get this far. But you've infected me like a cancer and now what the fuck am I supposed to do? Cut you out like the malignant little tumour you are? But I can't. I'm emphysema patient clutching at my Benson and Hedges. And I fucking hate myself. I hate you. I hate your smile. Your pretty little innocent face that looks like it hasn't been kissed let alone done the things I've seen it do. I hate your creamy skin. I hate the way you moan when I bury my hands in your thick brown hair and tug just a little bit. I hate the way you wrap your legs around my back and dig your pretty little nails into my shoulders. I fucking hate you. You've turned me into a monster. You've finished the job Azkaban started. Christ if Harry knew. Harry. You know. Your best friend. My Godson. The reason I escaped. The reason I didn't let them send me fucking mad in that hell hole. The only piece of James I have left, and I'm risking it all for you?

But I always was an idiot. And why change now? Too reckless. Too bloody reckless you say. And what about you sweetheart? Wandering around like a little tease, flirting with a man old enough to be your Father right under your best friend's nose? Slipping through his bedroom door in the depths of night in your little pyjamas, crawling onto the bed and kneeling there with that hair I hate tumbling around your shoulders, your creamy little thighs, leaning forward towards me, asking if you can stay. And I tell you should go back to bed, that it would destroy Harry if he knew, that I can't risk it, that Dumbledore would take me back to Azkaban personally.

But I don't, of course I don't. I grab you, and pull you against my chest, and you stare up at me in a way that I hate, and I hate the way your little wrists feel caught up in my hands, I hate the faint flowery smell coming from your hair, I hate the way that gorgeous little chest of your rises and falls so rapidly, I hate the way you lick your lips as you look at me, the way your eyes narrow in desire, and-

I hate how easy it is, how easy it is to pull you up to me, to crush your sweet little mouth with mine, to run my tongue against yours and feel your moan vibrate against my lips, feel your breasts pushing against my chest as you try to wiggle closer to me, how easy it is to push you down onto the bed. To climb on top of you and pin your hands above your head. To whisper things in your ear that I had almost forgotten. To see you blush and moan and squirm underneath me, bucking your short covered hips up against me, to-

To make you scream, to make little know it all Hermione scream out a convicted mass murderer's name, to make you moan it and breathe it and gasp it.

And it's so much easier to pretend I hate you, because the truth is infinitely more repulsive. Reckless to the point of clinically insane, even by my standards. I'm obsessed with you, and when you go back to Hogwarts I'll go out of my mind. And you will go back to Hogwarts. I hate you. I hate Hogwarts. I want you. Merlin.


	2. Like A New Born

**Like A New Born**

**A.N.: **Going back in time a bit now, to the beginnings of the summer.

What am I supposed to do? Turn you away? When I've had half a bottle of firewhiskey and you look like that? Merlin himself couldn't turn you away looking like that. Smiling that way you do so well. Staring at me with those wide eyes. Your hands fluttering up to my chest, and anyway, we're standing in my bedroom doorway, what if someone should see? Best to do it in private. I'll explain to you that your behaviour is wholly inappropriate and ... Merlin's balls I sound like Remus. Though I don't think he's being such a good boy these days. Not judging by the purple bra I saw peeking out from underneath his bed the other day. Or he's taking up cross-dressing. Anyway. Hermione. Now in my bedroom. Now pushing herself up against me. No! Stop it! Stop it now! For once in your miserable life Padfoot do the right fucking thing! She's a child! Your Godson's best friend. Harry. For Merlin's sake will she stop touching me like that, I'm only human (Well, most of the time).

She's 15! She's beautiful. She's 15! She's here, and warm, and perfect. She's Harry's best friend. She wants you! She came on to you! She's still at school. But she's in her OWL year, she's hardly a first year, and she acts so much more-

It would destroy Harry.

He doesn't have to know.

Two opposing ideas. One obvious answer. But not for an idiot like me. A selfish selfish selfish-

I'm lower than a rattlesnake's bollocks but-

But God it feels fantastic. Hell will surely be worth it.

And I'm slamming her back against the wall, and her little whimper makes my jeans feel painfully tight, and her neck, fuck her neck, soft and pale and fragile and in my mouth, and I'm sucking and biting and her little hands are wrapped up in my shirt, pulling me closer, but if I get any closer I'll be inside her skin, inside her bones, and that won't be fucking close enough.

And then I'm scooping her up and she's on the bed, and under me, and she's so soft and warm and alive and perfect, her skin's glowing in the candle light, her dark brown eyes glittering up at me. And perhaps I should ask if she's sure, the fact of her miniscule year's thunders in my ears but-

But she's wrapping her arms around my neck, and-

And my hands are in her hair, pinning her arms above her head, squeezing her breasts and making her moan and gripping her so tight at the hips small finger sized bruises will be there in the morning, just like the marks blossoming over her neck as I thrust in and out, harder and harder till she's screaming and-

And it's the middle of the night, and I'm lying here, her scent all over the sheets, all over me, wrapped around my throat, in my veins and I can't believe what I have done, what I have risked.

For what? For feeling as if every nerve is on fire, that molten lava is roaring and ripping and eating its way through my body, adrenaline pumping through me, making me do things to her, making her writhe on the bed, begging me for more, making me smirk as I hold her down, pinch at her nipples, feeling her hips buck up into me, grinding against my cock and-

Will that be worth it? Will that be worth it if she regrets it, if in the cold light of day she realises she's given herself to an on the run convict old enough to be her Father, when she is charming the marks on her neck away, when she sees Ron, young and-

And free.

Free to take her out, to take her out for dinner, to dance, to take her out for drinks and twirl her about the dance floor, hands lingering on her hips, whispering things in her ear, making her blush, kissing her, feeling her hands digging into your sides as you fly home, her breasts crushed against your back as the motorbike gets faster and faster and-

But that's an age ago, and I'm trapped here like a rabid dog, and that dipstick doesn't know what he could have, has no idea how to get her to scream and moan and writhe and-

But I do, and the images of her doing so crawl around my head, scraping at my mind till dawn.


	3. Monster

A.N. Thank you so much for the reviews, they have spurred me on (And saved me from further housework hehe ;) ).

**Monster**

I think I will go mad watching you. Watching you and those pretty little lips curve into smiles, your pink tongue darting out to wet your lips before you speak, and only I know what that tongue can do, isn't that right sweetheart? Because I watch you watching him, I watch the carefully concealed desperation etched across your face, and it's the look of someone who wants something, and worse, now knows what she's missing out on, but can't have it, hasn't ever had it, not really. I know because it's how I look at you, staring at you when no one else is looking, and I know you would know, do know when he's not around, but when he is it's all you can see, breathe, think about, and I'm just a cheap second best isn't that right darling? Someone to keep you warm in the middle of the night, so you don't have to think about him, long for him, ache to feel his arms around you, kissing you, doing all the things I give you freely.

But you're in for a shock if you think it will be like what we do in the depths of the night, when everyone is sleeping, if you really think he will make you scream like I do, make you beg, make your hands claw at the sheets so fiercely they rip, he won't have the first fucking clue love.

I should have known when you came to me that first night, the desperation in your eyes, the dark circles under your eyes, and I knew even then it wasn't just sex you wanted, it was sleep, a respite from something, and know I know what, and Merlin do I wish I didn't.

And I find myself hating myself, because I hate you, hate you for loving him, hate you for wanting him, hate you hate you hate you for all of it, for the way my name sounds rolling off your tongue, for the way you whimper it just before you come, for the way you cling to me to help you hang on, to everything. Because I know I should be mature, I should want you to be happy, I should be encouraging Ron, I should be understanding, I should have found out what was wrong, consoled you, given you a drink of firewhiskey and put you to bed. But I didn't, I kissed you when you lent in to me when I could have just held you, I slammed you into the wall when I should have been asking you to tell me what was wrong, that I'd fix it for you, I fucked you and made you forget everything, I made you forget your own name, never mind his, I made you forget it all. I found out what your sweet creamy thighs feel under my rough hands, how you quiver when you're about to finally find release, how you moan and wriggle all the more when I don't let you, how you like to have someone else take control, be bigger and smarter and in charge for once, and do you for one fucking second think Ron will do that for you? Make your skin flush like I can, when I whisper things in your ear, things that make you clamp down on me, things that just you and I know.

But I know that the forgetting makes it worse, it's like taking some sweet drug that takes all the pain away, makes you forget, and forget you do in the hours of darkness in my bedroom, when all there is sweat and skin and lust, but when you wake up from your drug, when you start to put your clothes back on, when you creepy back to your own room, when you lie there alone and cold, reality is all the more painful, it hurts like a thousand knives tearing at your heart, your mind, your soul, and you realise all over again how awful it is, and you wonder if the stolen moments are worth the pain, and are they sweetheart? And then I hate myself all over again, for hurting you more, when I should be trying to help.

I hate myself because sometimes, when you come to me in the middle of the night, and I see the tear tracks on your face, the paleness of your skin, the dark marks under your eyes, I don't feel what I should feel, I don't feel sorry for you, I don't want to scoop you up into my lap and tell you how it's all going to be alright. I don't want to smooth your hair and kiss your head and feel you nuzzle into my neck.

Instead, I have to beat down the urge to hurt you, to throw you onto the bed, to hold you down, to revel in the wideness of your eyes, in the whimpers coming from your sexy little mouth, to grind into you, to pin you there so tight while I'm rubbing my cock against you that you hurt, that you struggle, that you beg me to let you go, and to not, to keep going, to kiss you and bruise your lips, to really make you forget about Ron, to make you cry over me in the middle of the night, to make you miss the love I give you, to hit you and knock some fucking sense into you.

And then I feel like a monster all over again, and worse, I know that I am.


	4. Caught

**Caught**

Today I caught you.

Today I felt sure I would hit you. I wanted to hit you. I wanted to press you down into my bed sheets; I wanted to pull your hair and force your head back, and then slap you hard in the face. I wanted to see your face go red, I wanted to see tears well up in your eyes, I wanted you to fucking have some pain, a small drop of what you do to me, every fucking day, as if everything else isn't enough, but you don't care do you? One moment of seeing him smile, of him leaning into you as he laughs and smiles with you, is worth a thousand nights with me, and they do feel like a thousand nights don't they sweetheart? Can you remember when you had to warm your own bed before you had me to do it for you?

Today I caught you with him. With Ron, laughing, smiling, staring up at him, and I saw him, for a split second, stare back, and anyone else would have felt embarrassed at the intimacy in that look, but I was too busy planning Ron's gruesome and horrible death.

Today I caught myself, forgetting. Forgetting what it means to have a best friend, to love him like a brother, to feel incomplete when he's not there. To feel as if your soul has been ripped out when he's gone from the world. To love someone so much you would give up your life for him, readily, without question. So much that you would wait into the waiting arms of death, and your only thoughts to be of their safety.

Today I caught myself, forgetting about my Godson.

Today I remembered him, coming into the Shrieking Shack, coming to rescue Ron, his best friend, without a thought for himself.

Today I hated myself more than I thought possible. How ashamed James would be of me.

Fucking one of his Son's best friends, contemplating punching and possibly maiming the other. I have let him down. I have let Harry down. And worst of all, trapped here, I cannot begin to hope of a way or redeeming myself.

Apart from giving up Hermione of course.

And it has gone much too far for that hasn't it sweetheart?

Because Today...

Because Today I caught myself.

Today I realised how I would feel at your wedding, marrying him. Not me. Watching you promise your nights to him and only him, watching you smile adoringly up at him, watching him kiss you, imagining him...

Today I caught myself with white knuckles, eyes flashing like fire and my wand clutched in my hand, sparks shooting unbid from it.

Today I realised I never wanted to hit you. That I never wanted to see tears welling up in your eyes, that I never wanted to see your face turn red, and that if anyone ever made it do so, I would hunt them down and rip them limb from stinking scumbag limb.

Today I caught myself, and I was falling in love with you.


	5. Brothers

God I want you. I want to drag you from the room; I want to hear you whimper as I bruise your wrist, I want to sweep you up and carry you in my arms upstairs; I want to see those molten brown eyes of yours staring up at me, I want to throw you on the bed; I want to yank on your ankles to pull you back to me, I want to make love to you; I want you to forget about Ron, I want you to love me, to want me, to think about me all day and all night, to fucking want me with the same agonising desperation with which I want you, I can't stand it, I can't stand watching you watching him, I can't think that you might want him more than me, because I know you do, I know it with every fibre of my being that you do, and I fucking deserve it, I'm a monster, and worse, I'm destroying you, bending you out of shape and turning you into one too.

You are no longer the perfect little thing I met 2 years ago, that I wouldn't have dreamed of hurting or touching or maiming the mind of so that you'd be addicted to me. You'd changed before I ever laid a breath on you, you knew more pain than a 15 year old girl should, and Christ am I sure you'll know a hell of a lot more if this war doesn't end soon. You wanted darkness when you came to me, you've had enough of being good and right and moral and perfect. Because what good has it done you? Why the fuck should you bother when it has denied you the one thing that you want, need, can't live without?

Would I do any different? Of course not.

But I wish you had. I wish I had never had the opportunity to taint you further, I wish I could make him love you, or realise that he does, I wish you were still that perfect little girl waving me off on Buckbeak, one that I wouldn't dream of soiling, ever, let alone at 15, I wish I wasn't a fucking monster, I wish I had had the strength to resist you. I should have. I didn't.

So why stop now? In for a penny in for a pound right? Think that argument will count with God?

Will it fuck. I may not have killed Lily and James, or those muggles, or Peter, but I will rot in hell for all eternity for what I have done to you, I'll have my own private chambers in hell.

It's funny that I never believed in heaven and hell until I knew with all certainty that I would go to the latter. I'll never see James again. The thought keeps me holed up in Buckbeaks room even when Harry is here, I haven't the will to move, to pretend I am not destroyed inside, that I haven't destroyed myself, my afterlife, and his best friend. What must he think of me? He's a part of me, and everyday it rips me apart that I'm without him, but I know that now he must be glad that we are apart, must be glad he's not here to witness my foulness, that he will have turned away from me if he is watching down from Heaven.

I miss you James. I miss the person I once was, the person you made me want to be. I haven't got the strength any more brother. I'm sorry.


	6. Steel Knife

**Steel Knife**

A.N. Thank you very much for the reviews, especially the last anon one .

You're in my bedroom, and to hell with it, I don't care anymore. If I'm to be hanged, I must as well have fun first eh darling? Not that this is fun, having you rip my insides apart with that sexy little smile, the way you smell, young and alive and warm, fucking perfect but you don't know it do you sweetheart? You need him to tell you for it to mean anything, isn't that right? I won't die with you screaming my name, or with you sobbing into my chest will I darling? Because Ron will always be first. So I'll have my fun, and my agony. Because I can.

Because I will never see James' face again, because I have already let Harry too far down to redeem myself, because I'm trapped here and if I don't find some release, I'll fucking kill someone, because-

Because I'm slamming you into my bedroom door, kissing you hard enough to make you moan and squirm against me, your breath catching in your chest, your pink little tongue flicking against mine, and God I want you, it must be worth it, feeling something, feeling someone soft and warm against you in the night, it's not like I've forced you into it, you come to me every night, your fine boned hands fluttering up to my chest, inviting me in, begging me to do it and I can't stop now, I want you too much, I want to see your chest heaving, your thighs quivering, your hands clutching and clawing at the sheets in ecstasy, I have to, and I'm the only one that can make you feel like you do now, I know just where to suck and bite at on your neck, I know how it makes throaty little moans sneak past your lips, I know how you like me to press up against you, to suffocate you in kisses till you can't see or think of anything but me, my name, not Ron's, I can see him vanish from your eyes, the pain, when I kiss you like that, I think you might almost love me.

But it will only ever be almost, and that makes me kiss you harder, pressing you back so fiercely into the door that it will surely break, and you'll be splinters and bone, it makes my hands grip at your hips, your wrists, your breasts so hard that you whimper, but then your hips are bucking up into mine, and we both know that you want me to hurt you just a little bit, because a few small bruises are a relief, a pain you can handle, a pain that distracts from worse things. And your legs are wrapped around me, and I'm inside you, inside you head, your breath, your very bones, and I love you, I love you sweetheart, I want to crawl inside and never leave, but I can't, can't tell you that, what would be the point? So that you think it best to leave, to stop coming to me at night till I have to seek you out, and then I really am the monster, the predator in the night, and I'll hate myself all the more, and you for making me do it, for making me love you, want you, need you so much it claws at my insides, leaves me pacing my room at night, unable to sleep, to think or breath anything but you. Have you any idea sweetheart what you do to me?

Do you know that when you stare up at me like that it makes my cock so hard it hurts? That when I see your soft creamy white skin in the candle light I want to kiss you and make love to you and make you love me? That when I see you at dinner laughing and talking to Ron and Harry I don't whether to grab you and fuck you then and there on the kitchen table and wipe that fucking grin off Ron's face, or to beg on my knees for Harry's forgiveness? That I fucking adore you, and I can't let you go, I can't, I can't, I fucking won't, I can't bear the thought of him touching you, of him seeing you like this, naked and under him, moaning and writhing and gasping, because it's mine, this is mine, you are mine, these moments, stolen as they are, will never fucking be his.

Never.


	7. Suffocating

**Suffocating**

A.N. This is going to be from Hermione's POV. Probably only an occasional thing though.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything contained within the canon.

Have you ever wanted someone so much you could hardly breathe?

So much that they're all you can think about, all you can see, breathe, they consume you like an illness, and you can't stand it, you're addicted to them but it hurts, it hurts so much you want to stop, you have to stop or you'll go mad, but wouldn't that happen if you stopped? If I stopped?

I don't recognise myself, he's destroyed me, and you're constantly putting the pieces back together again, but you're putting them back wrong, so that every time you put a piece back I think less about him and more about you, and after four years like this that can't be right, it can't be right to want someone else like that, more than that, can it? Because you don't consume me like a cancer, like a vile illness tainting everything with a foul bitter taste, you consume me like a fire, and it burns me but I love it, I love how it hurts me, I love the anticipation of seeing you at Dinner, knowing what we'll be doing later on, I love the way you stare at me when no one else is looking, how it roots me to the spot and I can see the night before in your eyes, I can see you ramming me into a wall, I can see you pinning me to the bed and whispering things in my ear that I never thought I would hear, I can feel you grinding into me, I can feel your hot breath on my neck, and I am certain everyone must be able to see it, this smouldering secret, but I find that I do not care, as long as tonight I can slip into your bedroom, as long as I can feel your weight on top of me, doing things to me that make me see stars, make me see only you, Sirius Black, make me scream your name and test my silencing charms to their limit, make me happy in the depths of the night when I felt sure I would never feel it again, when I'm lying with you in bed, just for a few flickering moments, it's happiness, not desire or desperation, it's bliss, being in your arms, feeling your hard chest pressed against me, staring into liquid silver, and I wonder what really is so great about Ron, because he has never given me this.

He's given me rivers of tears till I thought I would drown, and you have pulled me back to the surface, and sometimes when I am thinking about him, when we are cleaning and I am watching him, taking in the fieriness of his hair, the nape of his neck, the broad shoulders, suddenly I see your face, I see it above me, I see the darkness in your eyes, the fervent need, I feel the urgency of kisses, and I forget about him momentarily, and I wonder if you might want me outside these stolen moments we share in the shadows, if there might be something more to it than desperation, and I-

I know that when I am watching Ron, when I am watching him about the house, I find myself wishing that it was night time, that I was in your bedroom, with your lips at my throat and my hands on your belt, and I know that must mean something


	8. Ever Dance With The Devil Baby?

A.N. Thank you for the reviews .

**Ever Dance With The Devil Baby?**

And we're here again aren't we sweetheart? Lying to everyone we know with every glance, breath, thought. Every fucking second that I can feel you in the room with me, feel the way your chest heaves beneath your robes, feel the way your skin feels as if it's on fire, as if it will ignite at any moment because you can still feel my hands all over you, grasping you to me, and I know because I can feel you, I can feel you on every inch of my skin, I can feel your soft skin pressed up against me, I can feel your breath in every pore of my skin, your pulse vibrating through my body, through my heart, my cock, my mind until it's the only thing I can hear, pounding at my skull till it threatens to explode.

I can see the night before reflected back at me in those big brown eyes of yours, I can see your hands clutching at the pillows, I can see your back arching up off the bed, I can see you naked in my room, I can see you kis-... I can feel you kissing me, I can feel my lips burning like it had happened moments again, kissing me with abandon nobody else in the room would think you capable of, but I know, I alone know what you're capable of under the cover of night.

And I want you now, I can't stand being the in the same room as you, even watching you doing something as innocuous as fucking cleaning with Mrs Weasley. I can't stand it, seeing your beautiful hair tumbling down your back, begging any deity out there to make the clock race to midnight so I can have my hands wrapped and burying in it, tugging and curling my fingers into it as I thrust deeper into you, as I feel your soft calves slide across my back, And I wonder not for the first time how people have affairs for years, how do they stand it, being in the same room as someone they have be so basely intimate with but acting as if they are mere acquaintances?

How do they sit at the same dinner table as their friends, laughing and joking as if there is nothing wrong, as if their soul isn't torn apart into a million directions, as if they haven't got a horrible secret they are protecting, guarding fiercely, jealously, because it is all they have, because it is all I have.

Because if anyone knew, if anyone so much as suspected I had even looked at you, it would be gone, our secret, you, my Hermione, our nights together, our secret life hidden within an existence. My pathetic existence trapped here in this abscess of a house, this weeping ulcer of a childhood home I am entombed in.

And you are all some days that keeps me from sticking by my bedside supply of firewhiskey all day, because I am no use to Harry, trapped here, surplus to requirements while he's trapped with his Aunt and Uncle, but I am of use to you, I can make you feel, I can make you better, I can make you come alive in ways you never dreamed, I can awaken dark monsters in you that you have kept carefully hidden, with a flick of my tongue in your mouth or a nip of my teeth at your thigh. And the power that gives me, the adrenaline rush that pumps through my veins as I look up at you as I leave a trail of hot sucking marks up your creamy silken thighs makes me feel alive, but it also awakens dark monsters within me, ones that like power, ones that like holding it over someone else, ones that-

Ones that I keep hidden, just like you do yours, and perhaps if you and me are in it together, we might not be the only ones shuffling our demons into the shadows out of sight, perhaps we all have them, waiting there, waiting for the right conditions to take over. And who we are is whether we can control those demons, whether we beat them back down or whether we let them inch their way in, slowly infecting us until they have full rein. I certainly know the category I fall into. Do you?


	9. We Run Like Thieves

A.N. Thank you so much for the reviews, muchly appreciated .

**We Run Like Thieves.**

_**And I wonder not for the first time how people have affairs for years, how do they stand it, being in the same room as someone they have be so basely intimate with but acting as if they are mere acquaintances?**_

How do they not grab them in front of everyone, pull them close, kiss them till they are gasping for air, show everyone how stupid they have been, how oblivious to what has been staring, screaming at them in the face, this secret, our secret? How don't they fling them onto the sofa and pin them there, and make them see, make them see that they fit, that they are perfect, that-

Because they have lives, because they have children, because they have friends children that need them to be stronger than their obsessions, their all consuming fire ball passions, and I have to remind myself of Harry so often these days that it is a mantra, and besides, what do I think would happen should I declare my unworthy attentions? Everyone would clap and fuss upon us bestowing kisses, blessings and congratulations?

When clearly they would hex my cock off and send me straight to Azkaban.

But I still have to remind myself, every moment that we are together in public, not to touch you, not to brush up behind you and wrap an arm around your waist, not to lean in and kiss the nape of your neck, not to whisper in your ear, not to make you blush, and it shouldn't be so hard with what's at stake, but it is, it fucking is.

I want to press you up into that alcove and show you how much I want you, I want to lift you up press you so hard into the wall it hurts, I want to kiss you into oblivion, I want to feel you hot and tight and wrapped around me, but I can't, because I have to sit here and pretend like I give a damn about cleaning. Cleaning! I'm a grown man, I should be fighting, I should be out, protecting my friends, doing a better job than I did of it last time, I should be keeping my Godson safe at all costs, I should be taking you out, I should be lavishing expensive dinners and shows on you, I should be feeling you pressed up against my back as we fly through the cold night air on my motorcycle, I should feel your soft breasts against me, your breath on my neck, my cheek, your hands pinching into me as you cling on, your thighs tensing as I speed up, but instead I'm sat on a mouldy carpet, eating sandwiches, whilst Mrs Weasley talks about Doxies. Like I give a fuck.

And then I see you staring at Ron and I wonder why in Merlin's name I put myself through these agonies over you, a chit of a girl, in love with someone else, merely in need of an escape from the awful thoughts that must consume you day and night, that torture in the night, that haunt your every waking moment. Because they haunt mine. They tear at me like rabid wolves.

But then I see you biting into a ham sandwich, looking up at me through your eyelashes and a curtain of hair, and I see you blush, I see you hastily swallowing and brushing the corners of your mouth, I see you anxious at my reaction, I see you go scarlet at my wink, and then I see our memories in your eyes, and then I remember why I put myself through it. Because I love you. Because I am in love with you, and I begin to realise how people find the strength to carry on these affairs. Because they have to. Because it is worth it. Because you are worth it.


End file.
